This semester I taught a college-level Bible as Literature class, and it has been quite the ride, to say the least. Out of 30 students, I would say that at least 25 of them come from conservative Christian backgrounds, which means they view me—and all of my claims about midrash and an evolving biblical text—with more than an inkling of suspicion, despite my own unapparent but sordid, long-lost background in the world of Evangelicals.

On the first day of class, four or five students approached me, and one said, “So, we really need to know: are you Jewish, or are you Christian? We need to know so that we can decide whether we are going to stay in this class.”

And now, my suspicions kicked in. They had been talking about me, and had somehow elected a leader, their own little makeshift Moses, to rise up from among them and ask the loaded question. I was the Egyptian, about to be struck down and buried in the sand. I was sweating on the inside, unperturbed on the outside. In my imagination: this could have been me.

The implied question seemed to be, “Are you going to regurgitate all of the ideas about the bible that have been communicated to me since birth by my conservative Christian community? If not, I’m out of here.”

It’s a literature class, not a theology class, which means that how, or rather if, I define myself is none of their business. But I felt compelled to answer.

My initial inclination was to say “Jewish,” but then I thought, why make it so easy? “I’m both,” I responded, “and neither. If that sounds interesting to you, then you’ll want to stay in this class. If not, I believe there’s a Catholic teaching one of the other sections, and there’s also a Reform Jew teaching a section. Plenty of diversity. The choice is up to you.”

Moses seemed satisfied: “Okay.”

I knew I would never see them again. But I was wrong. I was also impressed—they all came back, and they, along with all of the other students, have been amazing, despite their initial difficulty with reading the bible as literature, and not as theology.

Of course, it has taken some longer than others to shed the tell-tale signs of religious indoctrination. Last week, one young woman, a great student, asked me earnestly if the confusing reference to both God and God’s messenger in the story of Moses’s encounter with the burning bush was a reference to “the trinity.”

In a way, I didn’t mind, because it revealed that she was reading closely and interpreting the text from her own perspective and position. And it was a question—an attempt to understand—rather than an authoritative statement. She was searching for a way to make it mean something to her, and I think I can respect that. I wonder if we might even call it midrash.

A midrashic impulse is what keeps Torah alive. I myself have a slightly unnatural obsession with midrash and anything that feels midrashic, and so I’m happy when I see my students starting to think along these lines. I derive curious pleasure from listening to them during class discussions, as they “turn it and turn it,” much like the rabbinic admonition.

Do they know they are being Talmudic?

But I got a little surprise last week, when Brandon Kleiber, one of my students, turned in his weekly response essay. It wasn’t exactly an essay. In fact, he completely disregarded my instructions, and decided instead to re-tell the story of Abraham’s binding of Isaac. It made me laugh so hard that I had to share it (with his permission), and give him an A. I only wish I had discovered this little gem in time to post it during the Days of Awe . . .

Enjoy. (And, note how he has even incorporated the Hebrew emphatic—“drink, yes, drink”—into his “midrash.”)

"What can be said about the relationship between Abraham and Isaac? Here is Isaac, a kid who grew up as his father’s favorite son, had blessings bestowed upon him, and who would one day lend his namesake to the guy who sang the theme from Shaft, can ya dig it? And then there is good old Honest Abe, man of God, first Jew, who could not be happier when his wife Sarah finally bears him a son. Yet all that counts for naught in the face of the events that transpired in Genesis 22 when Abraham tries to sacrifice his son. I cannot even fathom what was going through Abraham’s head that night when God commanded him to sacrifice Isaac, but I think it may have gone something like this:

The scene: a tavern in Abraham’s village. The players: Abraham, his friend Harold, and the bartender, Hammish. Enter Abraham.

Harold: Abe, over here, come and have a drink with your old friend.

Abraham: Not tonight Harold, I have too much on my mind to drink, yes drink.

Harold: Bullshit, there’s always time to drink.

Abraham: Not tonight, for YHWH appeared to me and told me I was to sacrifice my son!

Harold: Ishmael? Son of that shiksa Egyptian broad?

Abraham: No, Isaac, son of my wife Sarah.

Harold: That sounds pretty serious. You really do need a drink. Hey Hammish, a mug of your finest ale or wine or whatever it is people in Canaan drink!

Hammish: Yes, good sir.

Abraham: I can’t kill Isaac.

Harold: I know, Sarah would never speak to you again.

Abraham: But if I disobey God, I risk bringing his wrath down upon me.

Harold: So? When’s the last time God’s wrath was anything to be feared?

Hammish approaches with the mug of wine and sets it down on the table in front of Abraham.

Hammish: (To Harold) You do realize how incredibly stupid you sound right now, don’t you?

Harold: Look, all I’m saying is that God is merciful, He won’t kill Abe here for not doing everything He says.

Abraham: Have you heard of what happened to Sedom and Amora? YHWH wiped the cities off the face of this planet because the men there wanted to have sex with other men!

Harold: Jesus Christ!

Hammish: Who?

Harold: Look, it’s an expression of shock and amazement. Go bring, yes bring me another mug of wine. Exit Hammish

Abraham: I don’t know what to do. And yet I can’t help but feel that God is testing me.

Harold: That’s it! He is testing you!

Abraham: But why?

Harold: Isn’t it obvious? God thinks you are a pussy. He sees you and thinks to Himself “Wow, this is the guy who I blessed to have children as numerous as the stars? He’s totally whipped, has no initiative, and has a really stupid looking beard. Time to put the Fear of ME into him!” And so on and so forth. It’s like when kids ride camels towards each other on the road and they wait to see which one of them gets scared and veers away. You got to go head-to-head with God. Going Head-to-Head With God: These two guys on camels are about to play chicken

Abraham: That doesn’t seem like a very good idea.

Harold: Well, I have been here drinking since sundown. But still, this is a chance for you to rise to the occasion. Play God’s game and show Him that you aint no pussy.

Abraham: (Finishes his wine and wipes his mouth with his sleeve) I aint no pussy.

Harold: You aint no pussy!

Abraham: I AINT NO PUSSY!

Harold: Damn straight man, now go and sacrifice that kid!

Abraham gets up to leave but stops at the door. He turns and faces Harold.

Abraham: Do you really think my beard is stupid?

Harold: I think yours is the most magnificent beard I have ever known.

Hammish: Get a room you two!

End Scene

So this blasphemous bit of theatre may not have been the word-for-word but I like the idea of God testing Abraham and Abraham testing God—the two of them playing chicken on a mountain and the prize being Isaac’s life. I also like the part where Harold gives Abraham a pep talk and gets him all pumped up. Is this accurate? No. Does this have a shred of integrity? No. But it is my interpretation of what might have happened the night before the sacrifice, my midrash."